In Medias Res
by Amanda Swiftgold
Summary: Roger and Dorothy may have a closer connection than they realize... Complete.
1. Part One Casus

"_In medias res_ is Latin for 'into the middle of things'. It usually describes a narrative that begins, not at the beginning of a story, but somewhere in the middle - usually at some crucial point in the action. The term comes from the ancient Roman poet Horace, who advised the aspiring epic poet to go straight to the heart of the story instead of beginning at the beginning." - http://andromeda.rutgers.edu/~jlynch/Terms/index.html Jack Lynch, Glossary of Literary and Rhetorical Terms  
_casus_ - fall, downfall, overthrow; accident, violent death, emergency, calamity, plight; fate 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part One - _Casus_

_Non mortem timemus, sed cogitationem mortis._  
"We do not fear death, but the thought of death."  
--Seneca 

He glanced out the window, seeing himself reflected back in the glass, black hair messy and unkempt, pajamas wrinkled, his thick robe simply tossed over his shoulders and not worn in the usual way. It was hard to see outside mist had fogged up the windows in his bedroom. It hadn't looked like rain last night, but sometimes storms came up so quickly. He raised a large hand, swiping the condensation away from the area in front of his face. 

The first thing he saw was that the sky was red, roiling clouds black on the bloody expanse. Roger took a step forward in shock, his forehead thudding against the clear surface of the glass and leaving a smudge on its pristine surface. "What the hell?" he breathed, pulling back and fumbling toward the glass door that led out onto the balcony. 

His hand brushed nothing where the curved metal handle should have been, but he was only allowed a moment of shock before, almost without conscious thought, his feet took him further down to where the knob glittered benignly in the dim light. The door was not where it should have been the room was still dark, and full of shadows but oh it wasn't _his_ and that wasn't _his_ balcony and what the _hell_ was Dorothy doing out there - 

As he flung open the door, bare feet suddenly freezing cold on the stone, Roger looked out over the unfamiliar-yet-familiar cityscape, his heart leaping into his throat as the sudden sound of crashing, rumbling it hadn't been thunder; he knew that sound, as well as heartbeats. "Megadeii," he gasped, staring at the sky. 

_What is going on? I don't understand, but - I have to do something!_ But what could he do? There were hundreds of them flying ones he could smell smoke, hear faint screams, and the sounds of buildings and even the domes crashing down like small earthquakes around him. Even if he couldn't stand against all of them, he couldn't just watch them destroy Paradigm, and he would be more likely to survive against those huge robots when surrounded by tons of metal. 

Roger raised his wrist, the robe falling from his shoulders to pool on the ground, and called with more confidence than he felt, "Big O! It's show-" He cut himself off, blinking at the bare skin where his watch-tool usually was. Cutting off a curse, he spun to run back inside and grab it, and pulled up short. This wasn't his house! 

"It has begun," a soft female voice said from behind him, and he suddenly remembered Dorothy was out here too. Turning slowly to face her, he felt his eyes widen. She was wearing a white nightgown, its long skirt fluttering around her slender legs, her feet as bare as his. She stood on the stone railing of the balcony, seemingly unconcerned with the destruction of the city going on behind her. 

At first he was only stunned by the color of the diaphanous garment, until the thought struck him that she never needed to sleep, so she never wore a nightdress. And was she - crying? Could androids even cry? "Dorothy," he said sternly, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. "What is going on here?" 

She regarded him almost blankly, rocking backward on her heels a little. His hand shot out and he bit his tongue against a cry of warning to be careful. "You know already," she told him. "We knew it would happen" 

The redhead swayed back again, the wind whipping her hair around her pale face, the gown around her like a banner, and he saw that the headband she always wore, that was a part of her, was gone as well. Wasn't that impossible? "What would hap- Dorothy!" he cried out suddenly as she started to fall backwards, not thinking of the hundreds of megadeii surrounding them in the city or the fire that lit the sky so red or the smoke that was filling the air. He ran for her, feet thudding across the stone, skidding up toward the railing in time to grab her ghostly-white hand just before it flew out of reach. He yanked her upright hard enough that she hit against his chest, eliciting a sudden grunt from the tall man. God - she was so _light_. 

"Let me go," she whispered, standing there still as a statue as he steadied her, tried to pull her down from the rail. 

Roger looked up at her, eyes questioning, and reached up a hand to her face, trailing his thumb across the dampness on her cheek. "I don't understand," he returned in an equally soft voice, but she spoke again as if she hadn't heard him, as if he'd said something completely different. Her eyes - her eyes were - her eyes - her _eyes_-! 

"Then come with me," she told him, halfheartedly trying to pull herself away from his steadying arms. "You promised" She shifted her small hands under his elbows, trying to tug him up onto the rail. He was half-surprised that she didn't just lift him there; she was strong enough or 

_What did I promise? I don't remember promising anything._ Not feeling very good about the situation, he nevertheless did what she asked, jumping lightly up onto the rail, if only to get a better look around, he told himself, even while mentally yelling, asking why he was standing up here on the edge when she'd already tried to fall. 

"Do you know what's happening?" Roger asked her, keeping his hand firmly on her shoulder. There had to be something wrong with her programming, her circuits. He had to get her back to Norman - but first he had to do something about the megadeii in the city - and why weren't they destroying this mansion? Why was fire raining down everywhere but here? 

She looked away from him, the red light of fire and sky reflecting in her dark eyes. "You are right. But I can't be a part of this, not even for my father." 

Was she even hearing him? It was as if he was speaking to a brick wall why wasn't she answering him? He felt helpless, confused, even scared, and these were things Paradigm's top negotiator was not supposed to be feeling! "Dorothy!" he shouted, pulling her around to face him, the burning, crumbling city in full view over her shoulder. 

"Get away from her!" a voice shouted, deep and commanding. 

"No! Father, no!" she screamed suddenly, that kind of volume from her startling him. Unable to turn around on the width of the ledge with the young woman in front of him, Roger quickly looked back over his shoulder, seeing a man he didn't recognize come bursting out of the house, eyes aflame with rage, something glittering in his hand- 

There was a loud bang and mere moments later that fire started spreading through his chest, warm and liquid and red, oh so red, spreading outward from the gaping hole of the bullet's exit wound that had torn apart the fabric of his pajamas, darkening the already dark cloth. 

He gasped in breath, eyes wide, arms and legs trembling, and looked blankly into Dorothy's face, at her huge eyes, her mouth moving in silent expressions of pain. He tried to say her name again as he stared downward, at the redness wicking outward, so bright against the snowy whiteness of her nightgown. She was bleeding Dorothy was bleeding the bullet had passed through him and into her "You're bleeding!" 

"_Dorothy_!" came the anguished scream from the man behind them, the gun falling from his hands to clatter on the stone, footfalls ringing as he ran for them. 

The small figure looked up at Roger, her hands holding tight to his arms, pulling him forward. He nearly collapsed against her, feeling her slight weight give way - why was she so light? He felt his arms go around her, blood welling between them so thick, so red, each heartbeat pumping life away. "Aaron," she gasped in his ear, rocking backward again, with a fierce tug taking him with her, her father's horrified bellow ringing out behind him. "I love you too" 

_Who...? What?_ His lips in her hair, tears of pain leaking from his eyes, he let her take him backwards with her, the wind rushing past them, faster and faster and faster, clinging tightly together as they plummeted to the buckled and torn road below, debris and cars strewn about like toys coming closer, faster and faster and faster 

She hit the ground with a cry, her body breaking his fall only slightly, wreathing him in an explosion of blood and pain and confusion and the sudden agonizing knowledge, the clear _proof_ that Dorothy had been human, before he relaxed across her sprawled, tiny broken form and the darkness came. 

***** 

And then the darkness vanished. He felt the roughness of carpet under his cheek, sitting up with a startled cry. His sternum ached from laying on his stomach on the floor for so long, and he rubbed at it gently, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and frowning as it came away wet. _What an intense dream... I was really certain it was happening._

"My word, Master Roger," Norman's familiar voice cut in, "are you all right? What are you doing on the floor?" 

The man climbed to his feet slowly, stretching his arms which still were tense from the emotion he'd felt while asleep. "I'm fine, Norman," he assured, trying a half-hearted laugh. "Just dreamed I was falling" 

"I see," the one-eyed butler responded, absently picking up the mess of sheets and blankets that had fallen as well. "Did you hit the ground?" he asked with a trace of amusement. 

Roger quirked an eyebrow up. "Yes as a matter of fact," he responded slowly, fishing up his robe from the back of a nearby chair. "Why do you ask?" 

Chuckling, Norman replied, "Oh, it is an old superstition if you dream that you're falling and hit the ground, then it's bad luck - hard times ahead, that sort of thing." 

He laughed, running a hand through the mess of his hair. "Oh, well, who believes that? Besides" he asked suddenly, "you remember that, or?" 

The butler shrugged, nodding. "I suppose I do. Well, Master Roger, your breakfast is ready for you, and you have an appointment with a client at ten-thirty." 

"Okay, great," he said, even though he wasn't feeling very hungry. _There's no use in just sitting around mooning over a disturbing dream, _he told himself. As he started following Norman down the hall toward the dining room, he mumbled, "Which client was that again?" 

"The maid accused of stealing from her former employers," the other man replied, his memory for such things impeccable even at an advanced age. "Why, good morning, Dorothy," he said, nodding at the small figure who stood there, armed with a feather duster and sweeping off a small statue. 

"Good morning, Norman," she replied in her monotone voice, looking up. 

Roger found himself frozen when he met her eyes, his mind superimposing the image of her, the tears, and the white gown - her eyes He reached out to touch her cheek, brush his fingers along that pale, flushed skin - was it true, then? 

Dorothy looked back at him, impassive although she was wondering why, exactly, he was staring at her like that, why he was about to touch her. There was something wrong, that was apparent, but she had no idea what it might be. It was fairly disturbing, actually "Is there something on my face?" she asked him. 

"Ah, no," he said quickly, almost springing backward. He clenched his hand quickly at his side, trying to pretend he hadn't just done that. "Are you coming too? Hurry up, we don't have all day" The black-haired man turned away, lengthening his strides toward the dining room. Why was he acting like this? He needed to distract himself, stop thinking about that stupid, stupid dream 

The android watched Roger as he left, the duster raised in her hand all but forgotten. She blinked, and then was startled at herself for the gesture. It was - impossible "Aaron?" Dorothy murmured, staring at the emptiness where he had been. 

* * *

So, what do you think? Yeah, there's supposed to be a lot of questions raised, and _most_ of them will be answered at the end of this fic. ^^; This story does not take place at any particular point in the series, it's not really canon or supposed to fit in anywhere it just happens sometime before "R-D" and after "Missing Cat". And yes, it's a Roger-Dorothy thing. ^_^ 


	2. Part Two Memoria

_memoria_ - memory, remembrance, recall, recollection; history; time within memory 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Two - _Memoria_

_Pars maior lacrimas ridet et intus habet._  
"You smile at your tears but have them in your heart."  
--Martialis 

There was no logic or reason that could explain why she was standing here on this unfamiliar balcony at this moment, Paradigm falling in front of her, but she was there all the same. She could feel the thundering footsteps of the huge metal robots and could sense the heat of the fires on her skin, could hear the rumbling crashes of buildings falling and domes shattering, the screams of people and the similar crying whine of the flying megadeii as they soared past, raining down death. The sky bled and churned black clouds as the world slowly came to an end. 

Despite the vague alarm the sight brought to her, she did not feel any fear, or urgency. It was as if this was a scene playing out in front of her but not involving her in the slightest. None of the large robots were responding to her call, not even to ignore it 

R. Dorothy jumped lightly onto the rail of the balcony as she was used to doing at Roger's home - though this was not his home, but one she didn't know. She turned to face its glass windows and stone façade, stretching out her arms, her usual black skirt fluttering around her legs. She felt herself tipping back, knowing she would fall, knowing it as well as she knew that night would become day. She did not want to fall; she did not even want to be up on the ledge like this, but her feet had moved without her consent or order. 

_Has someone programmed me to kill myself?_ she wondered, almost as calmly as she might wonder if Norman had any more chores for her to do. The thought of Beck swam into her mind, that wide grin framed by yellow hair, and his rape of her mind with his electronics. Put something in and she would do whatever they ordered almost anything. Maybe what bothered her the most was that she couldn't kill Roger when forced to, but she might kill herself wasn't self-preservation the most important thing? Not that dark-haired human man with the beautiful eyes 

Almost as if she had summoned him, she heard the sound of a door swung open, a man rushing out onto the balcony from the house. "Roger?" Dorothy asked tentatively, staring at the messy-haired figure with something akin to shock. He was wearing some kind of beige slacks, and a emerald-colored shirt that remained unbuttoned, his feet bare on the stones. He was wearing _green_? Did he even _own_ something that color? 

"What are you doing?" he asked urgently, his gaze wavering as he saw her on the ledge. He looked around at the destruction behind her, but he too seemed unworried about it affecting him, about a megadeus casually flinging a missile toward this mansion. 

The android blinked, unable to take her eyes off him. How could she answer that? "I'm not sure" she replied slowly. He was acting oddly, displaying none of his usual mannerisms that she'd mentally catalogued from watching him. Of course, perhaps she was not taking the physiological effects of the event happening around them into consideration. 

Without knowing why she did so, she tipped back on her heels, watching as he raised his hand, biting off a cry. She could not even take satisfaction from his worry or force herself to stand up straight again. _Roger, I do not want to kill myself... do something, please..._

"Dorothy!" she heard him scream out as she toppled, feeling the air rush past her face as she fell, and then a sudden jolt as his hand closed around hers, as he yanked her back upward. She flew forward so fast it startled her - how was he able to pull her up that fast? He was not _that_ strong! 

She stared at him as he tried to tug her down from the ledge, but as much as she wanted to step back down onto the balcony she could not force her feet to move. "Roger, if I was programmed to fall then I have to," she informed him, feeling almost afraid because she had known fear when she had 'spoken' to that proto-megadeus under the subway and he had put her fear to rest, smashed it for her he was the one who put her fears to rest 

The man reached up, trailing his fingers along her face, and although her mind told her to pull away she didn't want to. Her components, her programming, told her of the softness of his fingertips on her skin, a 'matter of function' - but was it telling her also that it felt good. _Am I really capable of feeling like this, or is it..._

"I can't do that," he said quietly, and she frowned at him. It didn't make sense. He was not replying to what she had said. So what had he heard, and what was he seeing in place of what _was_? 

Suddenly, she realized the answer. "This must be a memory," Dorothy murmured, "a memory of hers." Her. The real Dorothy, who had died forty years ago. _Father... no, _her_ father, must have given me some of her memories... then I really am simply a... vessel..._

And that meant that this wasn't Roger, it couldn't be a dead girl's remembrance told her that the man's name was Aaron, but it looked just like him, when he stood outside in his robe, his hair messy but as he jumped up on the rail with her, standing so close as he was, how could it not be? Why could it not be Roger who looked at her this way- 

"This isn't the answer," he told her softly, tenderly, with none of the sternness the man she lived with would have used. He put his arms around her waist and she could not move away, did not want to move away, even if he was really a stranger to her. 

She looked down, looked away, knowing that she was in a memory, knowing there was nothing she could do to change what would occur, whatever had occurred. "I am bound by history to carry it out," she told him somberly even though he could not hear her, was hearing whatever the real Dorothy had said years ago. _The past has intended me to fall..._

"We'll think of something," Aaron pleaded, turning to face her on the wide rail, his back to the expanse of the house behind him. She could see the redness of the dying city reflected on his face, the despair in his eyes as he looked over her shoulder at the destruction that was touching everyone else but them. 

Before she could try to respond to him, a voice cried out, a voice she knew from deep inside, her father's voice, "Get away from her!" He held a gun in his hand, raising it up, pointing it at the back of the man who was just now looking over his shoulder 

Dorothy's eyes flew wide, but she couldn't move, she was used to reacting with such speed but now she couldn't move couldn't move couldn't do anything couldn't move! "Stop - no!" she screamed as he pulled the trigger, the loud bang like a sudden thunderclap in her ears. The man in front of her fell forward, gasping, almost knocking her back she should have been able to hold him up easily but she couldn't- 

She felt the heat of his blood on her, but not the pain, although she knew the bullet had passed into her as well, had torn through wires and components and metal that should have stopped its piercing path. His body was trembling, his face white, so much blood staining them from the wound that had blown open his chest. "I love you, Dorothy," he gasped, trying desperately to keep a hold on her. 

It was almost as if her mind had shut down; the redheaded android didn't know how to react. That was Roger's face twisted in such pain, _his_ breath hitching in his throat his voice saying those words to her 

Her father's voice howled, "_Dorothy_!" in shock as he realized what he had done, that he had killed his own daughter by shooting her lover. He was running for them and she knew what she had to do. 

She grasped onto Aaron's arms, pulling him tight against her, rocking backward to lose balance. "I love you Roger," she breathed quietly, feeling gravity take hold, her toes leaving the edge of the stone, the weight of the dying man against her. She held onto him as they fell, watching the balcony grow further and further away, the face of her father appearing over the rail, reaching out for them in vain. She watched as the sky receded, as the world receded, as vision and senses and existence itself receded, smashed along the broken surface of a road. 

And so an android felt what it was like to die. 

***** 

When she became aware of reality again, she found that she was sitting in front of the piano, her head resting on the keys. They made a discordant jumble of notes as she sat upward again, pushing the russet hair of her bangs out of her eyes. _Is that what a dream is like?_ she wondered, glancing around at the room. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, unusually, it seemed, for a place like Paradigm. It was morning now how long had she been 'asleep'? Certainly for some hours 

Dorothy stood up, trying to get the unfamiliar groggy feeling out of her system. Brushing invisible wrinkles from her black dress, she left the room slowly, her mind filled with thoughts. Why would she suddenly have had a dream when she hadn't had one before? 

She went over what had happened as she walked, her perfect memory seizing upon the answer she'd thought of during the 'dream' - that had been a memory of the human Dorothy, the predecessor whose death she'd died. But if that had been a real memory, why was Roger in it? 

She glanced into the room she was about to pass, the one where the negotiator met with clients, slipping inside it when she found no one was in there. It had not been the first time, then, she realized, only the longest. Several days had passed since Roger had been acting strangely, since she'd thought she'd recognized him, called him by that name, Aaron what secrets was she hiding in the mind even her creators could not understand? Or, she thought with a small nervous feeling, _who_ was she hiding inside? 

Almost angrily, she stalked up to the impressive array of hourglasses that were arranged on Roger's desk. She knew his rules, his love for order and consistency, and sometimes she took great satisfaction in turning over this table full of _him_. Whatever he may have been measuring, or the purpose of the hourglasses, had long since been thrown off thanks to her methodical rearranging and flipping of each glass that sat there. 

The sound of a throat being cleared resounded behind her, but she did not stop flipping the glasses, looking back over her shoulder. Roger stood there glaring at her, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. She took note of the sunglasses he was holding in one gloved hand, the suit jacket that was on and buttoned, and spoke in a neutral, almost pleasant tone, "Are you going somewhere, Roger Smith?" The soft sounds of wood against wood continued, grains of sand spilling and tumbling, down down down 

He seemed a little startled at her perception but went on gamely. "And may I inquire what you are doing with my hourglasses, R. Dorothy Wayneright?" he remarked in return, trying to imitate her monotone but not succeeding. 

"I am flipping them over, Roger," she explained patiently, making him release a sudden, violent breath of air in exasperation. 

"I'm going to the military police station to ask a question," the black-haired man began. Dorothy found herself running out of hourglasses to turn and found herself turning them back again from the beginning, one after another, almost mindlessly. Couldn't let the last grain fall couldn't let time run out 

He regarded her with a flat stare when she didn't respond. "Well, would you rather flip hourglasses all day, or would you want to join me?" 

Dorothy paused, her hand hovering over the polished end of the largest timepiece. "Why do I need to go to the police station?" 

He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed, turning in the doorway to go. "No reason I just thought you might want to get out of the house or something." He shrugged broad shoulders. "Just thought I'd ask." 

"Very well," she answered before he could take another step out into the hall. Whatever else that memory was, it was affecting her thought processes and she had to stop that from happening, had to think about something else. "I'll go." He stopped short and turned around before sighing again, his face relaxing into a smile. She felt a little twinge inside at that expression on his face turned in her direction, before brushing that silly thought aside. 

"All right let's go then, shall we?" 

***** 

_I wonder if I should tell him about the memory,_ she thought, glancing over at the man as he guided the long black car through the crowded streets. With the rare sunlight shining brightly overhead, the city today seemed to be crammed full of the people who usually kept hidden, out of sight, out of mind. Would he be interested in something like that, or would he think it was just another pretense at being human? He didn't refer to her as an android much anymore, but even so, she wasn't sure about it. 

Even as she opened her mouth to say something, he began to speak, and she surreptitiously put her question aside, listening to his. "Ah, Dorothy do you dream?" he asked, shifting his hands on the wheel. "I mean can you?" 

"I have not," she answered after a pause long enough she was worried he might think she was hiding something. "I do not know if I am capable of it." He looked thoughtful for a while, and finally she broke the silence with, "Did you have a reason for asking?" 

He was quiet as he downshifted, bringing the Griffon to a stop just behind the traffic cop's plastic signal. "I had a dream a couple nights ago," he said then, and was silent once more, searching for the words. 

Dorothy waited patiently before remarking, "I thought that humans dreamed every night." 

"They - _we_ do," he responded hastily. "It's just that this one was different, somehow." He frowned behind the dark glasses, depressing the clutch and revving the car through the intersection with an uncharacteristic jerk. "It was more like a memory, but not mine. A memory from forty years ago." He gave her a sidelong glance, smirking with one corner of his mouth. "Crazy, right? I mean, I'm only twenty-five. It had to be a dream." He sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than anything. 

_It is completely impossible. I won't believe that it could be true... or what it might mean if it were._ "I can't help you with that, Roger," she told him softly, glancing down at her hands folded in her lap. He gave her another look but soon returned his attention to the road as the military police station glided into view. He parked in front of it and they got out, walking the short distance up stony steps in thoughtful silence. 

The android waited in the lobby as Roger went to find Dan Dastun, brushing off a young lieutenant's fumbling attempts at conversation while the negotiator met with his former superior in his office. The wait was not long and she didn't mind it - for it _was_ nice to get out of the house. 

Finally the tall man returned, holding a small slip of glossy paper in his hand and with a satisfied smile on his face. Dorothy felt rather amused at the disappointed look on the young lieutenant's face when Roger came over to greet her familiarly, waving the photo in front of her. "What is that?" she asked curiously, although her voice was as even as ever. 

"Something I needed to prove to myself," he responded. "I thought you might like to see. Do you recognize it?" 

She took the picture from his hand, looking at the man depicted. She knew who it was - and he knew that she remembered him from the near-imperceptible widening of her dark, reflective eyes. He was older than he had been in the memory, gun in hand, taking life away, but decades younger than he had been when she had sang for him in the NightinGale, when Beck and his goons had killed him. "My father," she said. 

Roger nodded somberly, making no move to take the picture back from her. "It was the oldest they could find on file" 

"Why?" Dorothy asked, meeting his eyes. "Why did you want this?" 

"I" He crossed his arms, looking away. "That memory," he said in a low tone, "if that's what it was. I saw Timothy Wayneright in it and wanted to make sure it was him. You can keep it, if you want to." He burst into sudden motion, striding forward toward the door as she stood there with picture in hand, regarding him seriously, knowing she would catch up to him in a moment. 

_Is it possible that Roger is having the same memory as I...? But... how could that be?_

***** 

It was a foolish notion, to be afraid of balconies now. Even nervousness was no good. She could not let such things get in her way of the enjoyment of the nighttime outside, when everything was dark and peaceful, the wind blowing through her hair and ruffling her skirt. Sometimes Roger joined her, but tonight he had gone to bed early. She wondered if he would dream again, or if she would - perhaps it was not a good idea to stand on the edge, then, if she was in danger of losing control and falling into a memory. 

Dorothy sat on the rail, tucking the ends of her dress under her. She missed Pero at times like these, holding his tiny feline body in her arms, feeling the rumble of his purr against her chest. She knew loneliness, and he had eased that pain because he had been like her, made for purposes beyond understanding. 

She could have simply known how long she sat there, but chose not to - it was more human that way. The android was jolted from her meandering thoughts by the sound of a soft clink, and glanced over to see the end of a grappling hook catch on the edge of the platform. She held still, waiting to see who the intruder turned out to be, although she was quite certain whoever it was wasn't up to any good. 

A few minutes later a lithe form pulled itself up onto the balcony, shaking out blonde curls as she straightened, looking around with a small smile. _I know her,_ Dorothy thought. _She's the client who came to see Roger some time ago - the one whose business card I tore. Casey Jenkins... why is she climbing up to Roger's balcony now? He can't be... waiting for her..._ She shook her head, standing silently before calling out, "Most people knock on the front door when they want in." 

The woman hid her surprise, turning to face her. She put her hands on her pink-clad hips, regarding her thoughtfully. "Oh it's you. Dorothy, is it? Guarding Roger, I see?" 

"I enjoy it here," Dorothy replied, leaping down to her level. She stood between the door leading inside and the blonde woman, watching her cautiously. _Even if she weren't trying to sneak in, I don't think this is someone I can trust._

"So you _can_ enjoy things?" The blonde made a face that ended up in a smirk, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek. 

She watched her emotionlessly, not showing how much that had actually stung. It would probably give that woman much too much satisfaction. "Are you Casey Jenkins?" 

"For a while I was, yes," she remarked airily. "I suppose that you too can call me Angel." 

_I too? I think she has been contacting Roger before this... why hasn't he told me about her?_ Ignoring both that thought and the woman's introduction, the slender android went on, "I have to ask you to leave. You are intruding here." 

Angel gave her an almost-shocked look, as if in wonder at her daring. "How can you be so sure about that?" she retorted finally. "You don't know if Roger invited me or not. I'm sure he doesn't discuss _all_ of his business with you." 

"If he had invited you, then Norman would have had instructions to bring you in. Roger does not like anyone to be let in without his permission." She paused for a moment. "Especially through a window, I might think." 

The other woman sighed, one hand fluttering upward in a gesture of resignation. "Very well, you are right. He is not expecting me, but I have to see him anyway. I have a very important question to ask him." 

Dorothy gave her a flat look. No matter what she wanted, each passing moment was making her increasingly reluctant to ever let her in. "He is sleeping now and would not want to be disturbed." 

"When I said it was important, I meant it" Angel scowled, looking almost as if she would rush the door. 

Dorothy was unworried; even if she was armed, she would not last long against an android if she tried force. "You can come back tomorrow, then." 

The suggestion was met with another baleful glare, and then a sudden weary sigh. "Look Dorothy, right? Just let me go in. If he gets angry, it's not your fault, it's mine." Her pretty face softened a little. "But the answer to this question could mean life and death." 

"I think you are exaggerating," she replied, holding out one arm to the side as Angel took a step forward. _I think you are just an actress playing another role._

She frowned, crossing her arms beneath her chest. Her tone said that she was making a concession, that this was so important that she was willing to even ask the android housemaid about it. "Has Roger ever told you anything about memories surfacing? Memories he is too young to have?" 

The question caught her off-guard. How could she have known that Roger had just been talking about that very thing? It couldn't have been a coincidence. "No, he has not," she replied without hesitation. 

Angel huffed, tossing her head with a smile, as if she'd expected that. "Maybe he hasn't told you, then." Her tone added, 'as if you were worth speaking to'. "But I have to know if he _has_, and just never said anything." She shrugged, spreading her hands disarmingly. 

"We were talking about it, and he said that he has not," Dorothy persisted. Everything inside, any intuition she might have had, was telling her not to trust this woman, not to let her get close to Roger. She didn't like the odd feeling this thought gave her 

"I think you're lying," Angel accused shortly. 

"Can you prove that I am?" the android returned simply. 

She shrugged, scrutinizing the redheaded woman in front of her. "Only if you let me talk to Roger." 

Dorothy continued to regard her seriously. She was a bit put off by the layers of emotion in the other's gaze. What was she hiding? "I will not." 

"Fine, then. This answer will do, for now." She narrowed her eyes, turning to drift over toward the rail where her grappling hook hung. She leaped up on top of the stone, hands on her hips once more. "But don't think that I can't see right through you, android." 

"You will believe what you want to," she replied, not sure what Angel meant by that statement. She had only been doing what she was supposed to, in accordance with Roger's rules what she'd thought was right. 

She tucked a curl behind her head, giving her a half-smile. "I suppose so. Goodnight, then" And, a moment later, she dropped out of sight, leaving Dorothy with new things to worry about throughout the remainder of the night. 

* * *

Soo, yeah. This chapter was hard to write. Thanks for all your comments! I hope you're still enjoying the story. ^_^ 


	3. Part Three Reluctor

Please pardon the delay, I was horribly busy with three jobs this summer ^^. This part was supposed to be the conclusion, but it got way too long (the first scene is longer than either of the other two chapters) so I split it up into four separate chapters and will end up laying a _horrible_ cliffhanger on you. ^_~ I probably don't have to remind you but this is in all events most likely an alternate universey-type thing. Doesn't really fit in anywhere, though I kind of try to force it to. And everything that happens in the flashbacks is based on postulation and theories, and nothing official. ^_^  
By the way, I took a page from Act Ten of the series, 'Winter Night Phantom', while writing this story. (The whole fatalistic memory-become-reality thing.) So if it seems a little familiar in that respect, that's why.  
_reluctor_ - to struggle against; resist; make opposition 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Three - _Reluctor_

_Accipere quam facere praestat injuriam._  
"It is better to suffer an injustice than to do an injustice."  
--Cicero 

Sometimes he wondered if he felt more natural in his own skin or amidst the blinking lights and controls of Big O's cockpit. Or perhaps the giant mecha was simply an extension of himself, guided with the same mental energy that moved his feet when he walked. Roger was quite sure that this wasn't real, that it was a dream - but as it was a Big O dream he didn't mind. Not like those others had been but he wasn't going to think about that anymore. Even while asleep. It was getting so that he was dreading going to bed at night. 

_This is weird, that I know this is a dream but it's still happening anyway. What's that called, lucid dreaming? _he wondered, scanning his surroundings through the vaguely orange glow of the viewscreen windows before him. What was he supposed to be fighting in this one? Sometimes they were enemies he'd really taken down, and other times they were mecha and monsters his subconscious conjured up. This time, however, he saw nothing except a field stretching out before him, and a small town in the distance, getting closer. 

How odd, to be traveling somewhere inside the big robot and actually having to make it move - he'd ridden to the scene of battles inside Big O before, while it was being transported on the converted subway, but never this way. It simply took more fuel than he could easily get, to run the thing for so long but of course, he was dreaming. Who cared about fuel? 

It was mind-numbing, almost relaxing, the motion of his feet on the pedals and the gentle swinging of the arms to keep balance. So effortless, it was almost as if he didn't even need to use the controls at all. As if Big O knew where it was going anyway. He could feel the 'presence' of the mecha with him more than ever, the same feeling that had him talking to it, as if it were more than an animate object, a friend. 

The town was coming closer now, registering on his radar as a larger blip. It was hard to tell through the tint of the viewglass but he swore he could see fire dancing on the horizon - was the town on fire? It was a small backwater place, hardly more than a handful of houses. And it was not very near to Paradigm, farther out than Electric City he hadn't even realized there were people out here, or at least this many of them. But this had to be his destination, at any rate. 

A small flashing light on a panel caught his eye, making him frown to himself. It was on the radio console, but not the one that signaled a message from Norman. This was a light that he had never seen blink before, but his hand shot out without conscious thought, depressing a button nearby. 

"Status on your progress, Pilot," a voice barked over the radio, the screen flickering to life and revealing its owner, a square-jawed man in a uniform. 

"In sight of Onnesburg now, sir," Roger heard his own voice respond, sounding tense and strained. "It appears to be on fire" 

_No, this isn't happening,_ he thought to himself, feeling almost frantic now. He tried to make his hands release the controls, tried to take his feet from the pedals, but it was almost as if he were paralyzed. His body wouldn't respond to his brain, and although he could speak his words had no effect on anything; no one but he could even hear them. Now he knew how Dorothy must have felt when she was being controlled by Beck. It was still rather odd to think of her as feeling things like that, though 

He was still wearing black gloves, black clothing, but it was not his suit; rather, it seemed to be some kind of jumpsuit. _Not again, not one of these_ memories_... not again... "I won't have it...! I won't have this!"_ he raged helplessly. 

The officer nodded once. "Very good. When in range, fire your beams. That should be enough." 

"Sir," he protested - no, _Aaron_ protested; he was named Aaron in these dreams. "They are civilians-" 

"They are rebels," the man snapped back, "and you know your orders, Pilot. If it weren't for your father's influence in the company your insubordination would have had you executed long ago. Complete your mission and return to the nearest base at once. Understood?" 

"Understood," he replied reluctantly, and the transmission shut off. 

Roger sighed, unheard. _"Are you actually going to follow orders like those?"_ he asked the man, knowing he wouldn't get an answer - well, not in words, anyway. He knew in a few minutes he would see what Aaron was really made of. 

Big O continued its inexorable walk toward the town, making its own beeline toward the burning buildings, crushing a path through stands of trees and fences like small toys. Apparently someone had decided these rebels needed to be destroyed perhaps they were even right. Roger couldn't know without giving in, without letting himself _become_ Aaron, and that was something he was not willing to do. 

And then the smooth rocking motion of Big O's steps stopped, the mechanical song of its joints coming to a halt. They were just barely in range for beams, and the weapons would take out the town in an instant. He could see people running around, not trying to quench the fires any longer but most making a run for the fields, for the small forest that wasn't too far away. They'd seen the mecha, of course, known that they could not survive against it. 

_If I were him I would let them escape and then destroy the town,_ Roger thought, trying to keep himself distant, separate. He'd not been trapped inside someone else's body in the other dreams, had been able to move around even though what he'd done hadn't made any difference in what had happened. This was the first time he'd not been able to control what was said and done, and such helplessness made him angry there'd always been _something_ he could do when things looked impossible, but now he had to rely on the judgment of some guy he didn't know to get them through whatever might happen. 

_There's a car down there, _he observed, with peripheral vision seeing an image on a display of a small vehicle racing along behind the mecha at top speeds. _They're going toward the town, not away... I wonder who it is? He doesn't seem to notice it..._

"Do you agree with them too?" Aaron asked from out of nowhere, and for one shocked moment Roger thought he might have been talking to _him_. But that was even more impossible than the fact that this was even happening. 

Suddenly, however, he realized that the pilot was speaking not to him, but to the mecha. That was not so strange - he'd done it himself before - but the real surprise was that Big O was somehow responding back. _"No," _Roger gasped, _"it's just a machine, how could it..."_ It was not with any kind of language, none he could define as such anyway, but he could feel a surge of uncertainty, of another kind of influence that made his hands tremble on the control sticks, reach for the button to fire the beams, slowly 

"I can't!" Aaron yelled out. "I can't kill them - I won't be programmed! I won't!" He gasped in a breath that became a scream of anguish. "Will you just do what they say?" he cried in desperation. Roger watched in fascination, felt at the same time the struggle to control his body, the pain he was feeling as he tried to pry his fingers from the controls. 

And then, as if pushed, he fell over the console that laid between his feet, its rounded edge colliding with his stomach painfully, the ends of the arm control circle bruising his sides as he shot past them. The man levered himself off it, falling to the wire-covered floor of the cockpit. He rolled into the depression near the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling of the space as he tried to get his breath. Even though he was not able to see anymore, he could hear the particular whine of the beams as they charged up to fire on Onnesburg. _My God, _Roger thought, _but I - he - but no one's controlling it! It's impossible! But it pushed me out of the seat..._

Aaron's voice sounded out weakly as he tried to sit up. "Big O," he said hoarsely. "Did I choose you or did you choose me? We are none of us tools" The piercing whine of the beams suddenly died down, making the young dark-haired man let loose a light sigh of relief. "I cannot let you be Paradigm's tool my father's tool" 

There was a sudden jolt from the robot, sending its pilot smashing against the nearby curved wall with a cry. A roar came from the ground, a large crater forming around the giant mecha's metal fist as it smashed it against the dirt. As the dust roiled about the large machine stood again, and then was alarmingly still. 

Roger felt an inexplicable pain coming from 'his' lungs, hearing the gasps for breath that were becoming more and more rapid. _He was just thrown around a bit, nothing bad enough to do this, _he told himself. _Is it some kind of connection between Big O and him? I can feel frustration and anger... is my Big O capable of this? Do I even_ want _to know if it is?_

He heard another mechanical whirr come from nearby, but with Aaron's eyes shut tight he couldn't see what was happening. It was familiar, though, unlike most everything else he'd been experiencing lately. And then something was moving him, turning him onto his back and lifting his upper body. "Aaron?" Dorothy asked softly, her visage swimming into view, a trickle of blood running down from a cut on her temple. "Are you all right?" 

"You're bleeding," Aaron said in concern, reaching up to wipe the redness from her skin with the thumb of his glove. "What are you _doing_ here?" For his part, Roger was relieved at the sight of another familiar face, despite the fact that it wasn't the Dorothy he knew, that it was strange to see such emotion on her features, to look into human eyes glittering from under the russet bangs. 

"I'm fine," she told him seriously, resisting his attempts to make her let him sit up on his own. "I drove here following you. I got shaken around a little going up in the elevator from the foot, that's all. I came here to try and stop this horrible thing from forcing you to destroy that town." Her eyes smiled a little then. "Looks like I didn't have to, though my car must be dust by now. How did you resist it?" 

He gritted his teeth, pulling himself upward and raking a hand through his messy hair. "I didn't, not really. He was going to shoot the beams without me, but then decided to stop." 

"Decided to?" Dorothy frowned, settling back on her knees. "You can't mean-" 

Aaron nodded, a small grin creeping up on him although his voice was full of the seriousness the subject had for them. "Yes, Big O went rogue finally." He sighed. "I wasn't enjoying fighting with him - he always wins." 

She twisted her slim pale fingers together in her lap, brushing at the folds of her skirt. "They'll know, and it will be more of an excuse to kill you, Aaron." Roger was surprised at the glitter of anger he could see in her dark eyes before she looked away. "Androids and megadeii we made them but they control us. I'm always going to hate them." 

"Dorothy" he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Be careful about that. He hears" 

The young woman leaned against his chest, sighing, "I don't care if _it _hears me. I still hate them, and what they've done to my father. What they force you to do." 

At the same time, Roger thought to himself, _I hope Dorothy never finds out that the girl she's modeled after hates androids. _When was he going to wake up? This memory was starting to go places he didn't want to tread. Especially with her looking exactly like _R._ Dorothy, who he'd have to see in the morning. No, he definitely didn't want to think about that either. Where was his own life? He'd thought he'd been safe from the problems of regaining memories since he was too young to have lost them in the first place 

A sudden rumble reached the ears of the two and the 'ghost' from the future, only mere moments before an explosion rang from outside, tremors shaking through the metal of the megadeus' framework. "Who's firing?" Dorothy gasped, hands searching for a hold among the wires and ridges of the flooring. 

_"That wasn't a direct hit," _Roger said without thinking, cursing quietly when he remembered no one could hear him. He'd forgotten for a moment - the way Aaron had his hand out to steady the young woman was exactly what he would have done. 

The man stood, lunging for the pilot's seat awkwardly as another blast rocked them, closer by now. "It was a warning shot; why isn't Big O defending himself?" he cried in frustration, dragging his eyes up from his panels to look out at the viewscreen. He froze suddenly, hanging over the control circle with eyes wide. "No no, it's a Speaker, Dorothy, they sent a Speaker," he blurted, his skin paling visibly even in the amber-orange light of the cockpit. 

She let out an involuntary cry, grabbing onto the edge of a console to drag herself to her feet. Dorothy stared in disbelief at the large, disturbing megadeus standing before them, biting her lip at the familiar outlines of its eerily offset head, the sweeping, curved necklines making it look off balance. "It couldn't be Father would never let them-" 

"Oh, yes, he would," Aaron said grimly. "He doesn't know you're here, remember? And he _loathes_ me." 

The deep voice that came from the Speaker was enough to shake the black robot that stood before it, although Big O remained as still and motionless as if it were stone. No one knew who piloted the enforcers of Paradigm's creations, those that were judge, jury and executioner no one knew the true identity of the voice that sentenced megadeus and pilot alike - if there even was a human behind it. "Pilot Aaron Soldano - stand forth," it commanded. 

Roger frowned mentally, trying to combat the feeling of fear he was getting from his 'host'. The family name was familiar but he was too preoccupied to place it at the moment. _Nothing's going to happen,_ he told himself. _You know how he... how they die already. It's not here, not now..._

"Aaron, don't," Dorothy cried softly, catching hold of his arm as he took a step forward. "Why isn't it doing anything?" At his look of confusion she elaborated, "Your Big O, why isn't it doing anything I don't feel anything from it, it's like it's been turned off" 

The dark-haired man shook his head, staring back out at the megadeus opposing them. "He knows he's been sentenced. He went rogue, so they will destroy him you can't fight a Speaker," he murmured, gently shaking off her hand. "Not unless you want two more after you. It's better that he's 'asleep' when he's destroyed." 

She frowned, lips moving before sound came out. "Aaron." 

Ignoring her, he pressed the button that released the viewscreen wall, a strong gust of wind blowing inward as the cockpit opened up, dusky sky and huge metal creation before them clearly now. He stepped out onto the ledge he'd created, shooting a wry smile at the golden megadeus. "I'm here. Do your thing." 

"Pilot Soldano," the Speaker boomed, "you and your rogue megadeus are to be destroyed." 

"After all this time?" Aaron called back caustically. "Fine, you'll kill me, then; everyone knows I'm rebellious. Why destroy Big O? Why waste such a good tool? Megadeii can be reprogrammed." 

The robot's offset head shifted on liquid-smooth joints, its white eyes piercing, glowing. "So can humans, but you are not worth the effort. You are a mere sack of flesh, human, and your infectious rebellion will stop here. You are both guilty and you are both sentenced to death." 

Dorothy's soft voice pierced through the whistle of the wind, and although the black-clad pilot did not hear it, the one who was watching this memory through his eyes did. "Ye not guilty," she breathed, her eyes fixed on the flashing words which had suddenly appeared on the round console in front of the pilot's seat. They repeated, over and over again, casting a pale glow on her white face. The chestplate of the Speaker megadeus began to rise, its torso elongating and parting, a high-pitched whine from inside of it growing louder. "Ye not guilty" 

A long, thick cable flew from the open space in the megadeus' torso, three parallel prongs unfolding from the metallic tube's center. Big O's framework shuddered as the tines slammed violently into the golden socket piece on its chest, sparks flying from the meeting of metal and metal. Aaron gritted his teeth, clutching at the metal edging nearby to stop from falling, feeling a sudden 'cry' from his mecha resounding in his head as the Speaker began to suck away its programming and power. 

_It's in pain!_ Roger thought, astounded, too in shock by what was happening to feel the same draining sensation Aaron - and he too - was experiencing through the empathic link with his megadeus. _How can this be? It's... a machine... _

Dorothy's eyes grew even wider as she watched the man start to pale and slump against the side of the open cockpit, gloved fingers losing their hold on the metal. Her footfalls rang on the plating of the floor as she ran to his side. Roger peered up at her through Aaron's unfocused eyes, seeing her skin so pale that she looked uncannily like the android he shared his home with. God, this was hurting. Why was he feeling what Big O was was feeling? Could it feel, really? He'd thought Dorothy wasn't capable of it either, but he'd been wrong about that. 

"_Speaker_!" Dorothy screamed out to be heard over the whining sound of the megadeus being purged. "Speaker, I am Dorothy Wayneright, and I command you to stop the execution at once!" It did not pause or even hesitate, and she drew in air for another yell. "I am Wayneright's daughter, and if you destroy this megadeus you will destroy me as well! Do you understand? Scrap metal!" she howled, raising a hand to her throat at the sensation of the raw feeling her yelling had produced. 

There was a sudden, blessed break in the sucking feeling that Aaron, and Roger with him, could feel almost physically on his skin, and he fell to his knees, vertigo making his surroundings spin around him. "You will be returned to the city," the Speaker informed Dorothy finally. "Your presence was not foreseen, but it does not matter." 

She shook her head firmly. "I will not go! I know what you are, most horrible of my father's children. I know what you desire, what you were _made_ to desire. Would you destroy a Chariot, purge one of the instruments of cleansing? Would you endanger the rebirth, the purpose that is your sole reason for existence?" The young woman's eyes held phantoms of suffering, of horror that Roger could not begin to explain. What in the world was she talking about, anyway, that made her look as though she'd just fought something and lost? 

The golden megadeus reared backwards, the eyes in the offset head glowing intensely. A ring of sparking electricity ran down the cable, rocking Big O with its force and making Aaron scream, clenching his fists to steady himself. "This rogue is no Chariot!" the deep voice boomed. "Anything that disobeys Paradigm cannot purify the world!" 

"This Big O _is_ a Chariot," Dorothy said dangerously. "My father made it so, and I caused this man to be its pilot. Everything is performing as foreseen! Do you dare to claim to understand the whole of the plans for a miracle, megadeus?" She raised her hand, pointing imperiously at the mecha before them. "And as _you_ refuse to obey _me_, you will be the first cleansed!" 

The glittering eyes grew substantially brighter, the Speaker making no response except to fire its eyebeams, the deadly light streaking toward them. Aaron was forced to cover his eyes, anticipating the impact of the weapons that had been fired directly into the unprotected cockpit. Roger felt his heart leap into his throat, trying desperately to wake up from this dream he was trapped in. He felt the blast hit them, felt the megadeus shift; they were going to fall, he knew, and there was no way they could survive something like that in here, being thrown against walls, thrown out into the sky but they'd died falling from a balcony - hadn't they? 

When the deadly collision never came he peered out from behind his arm, gasping softly as he saw dark gray-black metal blocking the cockpit, the insides of the mecha's arms facing him as they had blocked the blow. "Big O!" Aaron cried, a happy yet disbelieving note in his voice as the amber-orange glass slid back into place protectively. He felt a sudden prickle of discomfort and then relief as the mecha tore the cable out of its socket with a wrenching movement, severing the connection between the two megadeii. "You saved-?" he asked the machine aloud. 

"I will kill you!" His question was cut off by Dorothy's mutter, and he wrenched himself around from where he was sprawled on the wiry floor to stare over the rise at the small woman seated in the pilot's chair, her eyes black as she stared outward at the golden Speaker that faced them, revealed by the movement of the huge arms. 

The black-haired man's face was twisted into a look of shock. "He - _let_ you control-!" He hauled himself up, leaning on the curved console surrounding the seat, saying nothing as he watched her shift her feet on the pedals, hands on the control sticks moving the mecha's arms into an attack position. 

_She can barely reach the controls! _Roger thought. _Dorothy piloting Big O..._

Shockwaves rocked the machine as the Speaker fired at it, beams deflected by the plating on Big O's arms. Its own limbs were thick and strong, but the consciousness of the eerie megadeus had its own personality, it seemed, and it was using its energy weapons more than physical attacks. Dorothy saw this, and, no longer defending, pressed forward with piston-driven punches it was unable to parry. 

Big O was responding sluggishly, from both being drained of power as well as unfamiliarity with its pilot, but at least it was responding. Aaron, and Roger too, silently, wanted to suggest to the woman that he take her place, but there was no way to do it in the middle of a battle, he was still feeling woozy from the empathic energy drain, and besides, at the moment he didn't want to chance suggesting it, not when faced with that stunning dark look in her eyes. 

So he remained by her side, watching as, little by little, she wore down the assassin megadeus. Its attacks shook them from time to time but it was forced to wait long periods to recharge enough power in order to fire again. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she ran the controls with more effort than a completely bonded pilot would have had to use. Finally, she had the arms of the Speaker braced in Big O's hands, holding them there with all her strength, all the mecha's strength. Its eyes glowed again, charging up for another hit, and she gritted out, "Aaron, the missiles!" 

_"We're too close to it,"_ Roger objected, scowling inwardly as Aaron immediately lunged without thinking of that, twisting himself uncomfortably over the console walls to slam open the panel, uncovering the buttons. He depressed them all with both his hands, hearing the satisfying whirring noise and slight backlash as the projectiles flew forward, embedding themselves into the widened torso. Moments later they exploded in a blinding flash, blowing the two megadeii apart and the Speaker into metal fragments. Only its huge voice remained for a second more, emitting a chilling scream that quickly faded away over the burning remnants of Onnesburg. 

Had there been a pilot in that thing? Roger didn't think so. 

Suddenly, however, neither he or his 'host' could think one thing more, as Aaron slammed into the back wall of the cockpit with a cry, Dorothy's voice echoing his as Big O was knocked back, landing hard on the ground with a resounding crash. She had been protected in the seat and quickly climbed out of it, pulling herself over the round console in front of the foot pedals to reach the man where he laid. "Aaron, Aaron, are you all right?" she asked, her steady voice reminding Roger yet again of the android he knew. 

_She made a good android even while human,_ he thought before remembering her tears, and the fall from the balcony, and rethought that. He had to wonder why he was being shown this now, how this man's memories had gotten into his head, and how he could get them _out_. He went through enough of this kind of 'excitement' in his _own_ life, thank you very much. 

He pulled himself up with her help, pressing his palm against his forehead as lights danced in his vision, his head pounding. "I'm okay," he said with a small half-laugh. "Just need to take a very long nap when we get back" 

Dorothy regarded him for a moment and then looked away, hiding her face in her hands. Instantly concerned, Aaron reached out to her, touching her shoulder. She shrugged away his fingers, and with a frown he stood; deciding not to press anything yet, he stumbled over toward the pilot's seat. He placed his hand flat on the metal of the console, feeling the faint hum of energy racing underneath the metal through the thin fabric of his glove. "Rest, my friend," he murmured before reaching for a button. "Pilot Soldano to Command," he said into the communicator, his voice suddenly growing stern. "Pilot Soldano to Paradigm Command. Come in, Command." 

_"This is enough," _Roger said, trying to force himself to wake up. _"I'm tired of this 'dream'! I know I'm sleeping and I want to wake up!"_ He was sick and tired of being trapped here helplessly, unable to do anything but watch and experience what was going on. He could only listen as Aaron called Paradigm headquarters, calling for two Duos - whatever those were - to bring them back to the city, could only go along as the man walked over to where Dorothy sat and knelt beside her, once more putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

Now she didn't push him away, sniffling miserably. "I hate it," she whispered fiercely, suddenly pressing her tear-dampened face into his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. For a moment Roger was reminded of Beck's control of R. Dorothy and had to fight away a frantic feeling. "I hate megadeii, I hate them. Why did we have to make such awful things? Why did my father have to-" She choked on her words, shaking her head helplessly. "I promised myself, I told myself I'd never, ever pilot these things again, never!" 

Aaron held her tightly, resting his bruised face in her hair. "Oh, God, Dorothy," he murmured. "I know I know but you saved us, you saved us all" 

"I saved you and me, but I didn't do it for _it_," she told him in her quiet tones. "If it weren't for the fact that you'd feel it, if there was any way I could do it, I'd have blown your Big O up with the Speaker." 

"Dorothy," he said again, softly, unable to do anything but sit there, be there for her, and listen. 

The red-haired woman raised her head, looking into his eyes. "Did you hear me, what I said to that atrocity? They're going to do it soon, Aaron, their 'cleansing' they will take away the past to make it their own, and my father, your father, they are part of it there's nothing we can do! Did you hear me, speaking just like him? Rebirth of the world? No!" 

He grabbed onto her shoulders, holding her steady. "I know, I know there's nothing we can do we're just two people against all of Paradigm, against our families and God knows who else. But we have to _try_ if we don't try to do something, it's just the same as giving into them." 

"But there's nothing we can do," she said brokenly. "We can plan nothing, because you are a pilot for them and they will scan your memories when they debrief you and my father tries to keep me under lock and key. Aaron," she breathed, grasping for his hands, "will you make me a promise?" 

"I don't know," he murmured. "I'll do anything for you, Dorothy, but" 

She continued on inexorably. "I'm not going to sit there and be saved, to be protected while everyone else is reduced to children, looking to Paradigm to lead them back to the light. I'll die first, and promise you won't stop me. Promise you'll come with me, will you?" 

He brushed the hair from her eyes, shaking his head. "I" 

"It's hopeless, Aaron. We're alone and there's nowhere to run to." 

The dark-haired man sighed deeply, and she smiled just barely, hugging him for a moment. "I'll go with you, Dorothy. I promise." 

_"What kind of promise is_ that_?"_ Roger said derisively. At least now he knew what she had been talking about now in that first damn dream that had started this entire mess. Suddenly, he wished he could close his eyes, look away, run away, feeling very much like an intruder as Aaron leaned forward, brushing his lips against Dorothy's. He felt himself kissing her, the pressure of her mouth against his, and quite firmly kept his mind clear of any thoughts that would create complications when he woke up. So she looked like the Dorothy he knew - it meant nothing, it was just a stupid _dream_

Right. 

Soft strains of piano music came to his ears and Roger frowned, waiting for a reaction to it from Aaron and Dorothy, but there was none. It grew louder and louder, and his happiness greater and greater as he recognized the pounding, desperately fast rise and fall of notes from the piano as R. Dorothy, his Dorothy, the android Dorothy, played the piano to wake him. 

He opened his eyes to see the ceiling of his room, his beautiful, wonderful room, feeling exhausted despite having slept for eight hours, and never in his life had he loved that piano, and that song she played, more than he did then. 

Something was going to _have_ to be done about this. 


	4. Part Four Succumbo

More stuff that was really just too long to fit in the third part. I'm not afraid of having twenty-page-long chapters (most of my other fics do) but it's not what I was going for with this one  
_succumbo_ - to lie down under; sink down; give way; succumb; surrender 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Four - _Succumbo_

_Mundus vult decipi, ergo decipiatur._  
"The world wants to be betrayed, therefore let it be betrayed."  
--Sebastian Brant 

***** 

The day was going to be full and busy, which was a good thing, he knew. Roger strode down the hall, keeping his mind on his newest client and the intricacies of the situation; solid, normal things to occupy his mind with, so different from the mist-wrapped memories that weren't his own. It was a good day, everything running smoothly 

"Morning, Dorothy," Roger said offhandedly as he passed the android in the hall, proud of how casual and normal that sounded - but when only a wooden clatter greeted his ears, he jammed his heel onto the tile to stop himself and turned slowly. That had been the broom hitting the floor, but otherwise she hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged him in any way. 

Frowning, Roger came closer to the android, eyes narrowing as he peered down at her. Her small form was slumped against a corner in a niche of the wall, the broom she'd been holding now laying at her feet. Reflective eyes still stared blankly at him although he was certainly not what she was seeing. "Dorothy?" _What the hell is wrong with her? If she were human, I'd say she passed out!_ He reached out to touch her shoulder and she fell forward; he barely managed to catch her, stumbling back to catch his balance and keep them upright. Straightening with an effort, he raised his free hand to his lips and bellowed, "Norman!" 

The one-eyed butler appeared momentarily, in that way of his always knowing when he was being called. "Master Roger?" he queried, then, raising one bushy eyebrow, hurried over to the younger man's side. "Oh my, what's happened?" 

He shifted his grip on the comatose android, dragging her away from the wall a little. "I don't know," he gritted out, although he certainly had his _ideas_. "Help me, would you?" 

"Certainly," he replied, moving to hoist Dorothy's feet with an ease that belied his appearance. "Let us put her on the couch in the sitting room." 

Between them, the two men managed to carry her into the room and lay her on the low couch; she looked even smaller than usual, a black and white stain upon the olive-green upholstery. Leaning over the arm, Roger moved to shut the piercing, staring eyes but jerked his hand back upon finding them already closed. "What's going on, Norman?" he demanded angrily, more out of the need to vent than believing his butler had the answer. "Did she short-circuit or something?" 

"It's possible," the man conceded. "I will have to examine the circuitry, of course, to be sure, but I would like to wait to see if she comes out of it first. Perhaps Miss Dorothy herself will be able to tell us what happened." 

"Maybe," Roger muttered, seating himself on the arm of the couch and letting out a sigh. _First the dreams and now this. I can't help but think they might be related somehow... but if she were giving them to me, wouldn't I be sleeping now too? _

Scowling, he looked at Dorothy, and then cocked his head to the side in thought. It had been months now since Timothy Wayneright had been killed, since she'd sung at the nightclub and looked so human, acted so human. Why did this now remind him of that? She was just laying there, and yet her face seemed to have color in it she was even making soft sleep-noises and stirring gently as if to get more comfortable where she lay. 

_Wouldn't you like it if she acted human for you?_ a little voice inside asked him. _And then _you_ could take her to the NightinGale... maybe the thought of her and you wouldn't be so uncomfortable then, would it? You've seen her as a human, in your dreams... maybe those dreams are only your own wishful thinking..._

Roger almost physically brushed that thought aside as Norman commented omnisciently, "It seems quite a change, doesn't it?" 

"Yeah I wonder what she's dreaming?" he mused, unaware that he'd even decided that was what she was doing. 

***** 

There was going to be hell to pay for what she did to save Aaron from the Speaker, she knew. The moment they'd returned to Headquarters her boyfriend had been spirited away for debriefing, and though she'd left very stern warnings against them either harming him or his megadeus, she was still very worried about what might happen to him, much more so than she was worried about the tongue-lashing her father was about to give her. 

She paused outside the door to his office, hand on the knob although she didn't turn it. A familiar voice - familiar only because it came from her own throat - was singing a song inside. It was her favorite song, a duet from the new Broadway musical 'Call From the Past', though the voice in the office was singing all the parts. 

Dorothy bit her lip, opening the door as the alto voice sang, 

_ There's no one else  
You're the only one for me  
Yes, this time our love's the real thing..._

She felt almost betrayed, by her father, by the singer, by everyone - after all, she could hardly be as perfect as _that_, could she? No, not her. She would be yelled at for being merely human, for choosing her own path, choosing who to love. Being jealous over someone else singing a certain song seemed very petty indeed, and yet the emotion was there, unwilling to be denied. 

_ Never felt that love is so right  
The world seems such an empty place  
We need someone we could give our all..._

"Ah, Dorothy," Timothy Wayneright said to his daughter, turning the large chair around to face her. The panorama of the city was spread out behind him displayed far below the skyscraper office, shining in the artificial light of the dome. "You are certainly in some trouble, young lady. I want you to explain your actions!" 

The young woman standing before the desk cut off her song, eyeing Dorothy with an almost simpering smile. "Hello, dear sister," she said brightly. 

"Don't speak to me." She turned away abruptly, her bobbed russet hair swinging around her face as she faced her father. "I will not tell you anything with _her_ here." 

The man sighed, rubbing at his temples briefly. "Really, Dorothy, you must stop being so callous to your own twin sister!" 

_Only you, Father, could bring out such feelings in me... I love you, but I wish I did not! _Looking over her shoulder, she saw the piercing gaze of the young woman who looked exactly like her but would never age, never change. No, that android was not even like her, but dressed in brightly colored, wispy clothing as opposed to the ascetic style that Dorothy preferred. Nearly seething, she clenched her fists and hissed, "That _thing_ is not my sister, and if this is all you have to say to me I'm leaving right now." 

"You will stay right there," Wayneright said firmly before looking at the figure behind her. "Could you please wait in the hall, my dear?" She nodded, giving him a little curtsy. "There's a girl." Her father then looked over at Dorothy, scrubbing a hand through chestnut-colored hair. When the click of the latch on the door sounded, he immediately shouted, "What do you think you were _doing_, young lady? That megadeus went rogue and was to be destroyed! What is the meaning of saving it?" His eyes narrowed for a moment. "I cannot believe that you've changed your mind and feel sympathy for the megadeii." 

"I feel no sympathy for machines," she responded coldly, "even ones you've given 'feelings' to. I did it to save Aaron, and that's the only explanation you need." 

Wayneright scowled darkly, an expression that almost made Dorothy take a step backward. "I'll thank you to hold your tongue," he commanded, voice dripping with derision as he went on, "you realize that little Aaron Soldano and his rebellion has jeopardized his father's standing in Paradigm? After all, there are many more potential financial backers for the project" 

"And what about you?" she shot back. "Deny it if you like, but I am one of the rebels too, Father." _Don't think about the futility... no, I will die before I see my father destroy humanity and rebuild it in his image. _

"Only my love for you lets me ignore your youthful shortcomings," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. 

Dorothy remained still as a statue. "And my love for Aaron demands that I not stand by and let you destroy him," she replied simply. 

He brought his fist down hard on the desk, rattling pens and his half-empty coffee cup. "Foolishness!" he roared. "This - this is more important than your childish 'love'. And soon," his voice grew low, almost dreamy, "soon, there will be a great cleansing and it will no longer matter. Miguel and his ratty little son are out of favor" He shook his head, clearing the mist from his eyes. "I advise you to forget these feelings, Dorothy. You are to be saved for Alex Rosewater-" 

"Saved!" she screeched. "You talk like I'm some possession - I won't have it! Father - he's half my age!" 

Wayneright continued on imperturbably, "-and I will not hear of you leaving home again, do you understand? Now, your sister will escort you home; I have too much to do. So soon," he whispered. "Go, Dorothy. Now." 

_'So soon,'_ she thought, trailing a hand along the wooden paneling of the hallway in her mansion home. The android version of her, having gone along with her from Wayneright's office, still trailed along behind her, saying nothing but not leaving her alone either. _He will be ordering the megadeii into place soon. And then they..._

"Why do you rage so?" The voice came out of nowhere, startling her. "You must have realized by now that there's no way you can stop a project this enormous. You should concentrate on what you can do - saving your 'beloved' from the rebirth, perhaps." 

"I don't have to answer to you," she muttered, turning down the hallway that led to her room. _At least she won't follow me in there, though I'll effectively be imprisoned,_ she thought with a tinge of despair. God, it was all falling down around her 

The android took a larger step, turning to face her as she walked down the hall, moving backward. "Why do you fight? You are in a privileged position - you may help shape the world as you see fit. Why not take advantage of it, shepherd? Why be a sheep?" 

Dorothy shook her head violently. "We have no right to dictate how people should live; we have no right to decide that Paradigm Corp alone should be the gods of the world. We have no _right_!" 

"All gods are things humans have created to control them," her double replied simply. "It is merely time for renewal winter becoming spring. This doesn't excite you?" 

"What do you know?" the young woman replied warily, twisting her pale fingers together in front of her. She was beginning to feel very leery of the android, wishing to be rid of her but knowing that was impossible. After all, she was the perfect daughter, and if Wayneright had told her to follow Dorothy and keep her from scheming, she would. 

"More than you think," her companion replied predictably. 

She reached the door of her room and opened it. "Leave me, now," Dorothy commanded, in a very bad mood at the moment, not that she would ever have felt pressed to be polite to the android her father kept trying to make her believe was her sister. 

Pausing, she replied, "I can't do that. I was told to accompany you _everywhere_." 

"I don't think so!" Dorothy said in a freezing tone, turning to step inside and slam the door quickly. However, she came face-to-chest with a man and stopped cold, eyes widening a moment before she realized who it was. "Aaron!" she gasped. 

"Hullo, Nightingale," he said over her head, speaking not to the young woman but to her 'twin' standing behind her. His father had been involved in the creation of the android, and so Aaron had met her often enough before, though _liking_ her was a different story. 

The android suddenly frowned. "You-" she began, but in a quick gesture the dark-haired man had spun Dorothy around behind him and reached out with something in his hand. There was a bright arc of electricity, and the heavy metal body of the young woman's look-alike suddenly froze up, hitting the floor with a hard thud. 

Aaron flicked off the taser and then turned back to look down at his girlfriend. "I _thought_ your babysitter might be around," he said with a half-smile. 

"What are you doing here?" Dorothy demanded, closing her hand around his arm. Her normally serious face broke into a sudden smile of relief. 

He brushed her hand away gently, though, and bent to pull the disabled android into her bedroom. Catching his breath for a moment afterwards, he shut the door behind them and leaned against it with finality. "After they debriefed me," he told her finally, brushing dirt from his black pilot's jumpsuit, "filed my memories and all, they knew - well, of course. I - I don't know. I disobeyed orders, I was to be - reprogrammed-" 

Dorothy sighed, leaning her head against his chest and holding onto him tightly. "But you ran away and came here," she finished. 

"Well," Aaron began, a little sheepishly, "I also stole Big O." As she jerked her head up to stare at him incredulously, he finished, playing with his messy hair nervously, "I was able to get out using, the, uh, subway. He's hidden under it, under there did you know there's a tunnel connecting to your house? I got the idea to come here, seeing that" 

She pulled away from him and stepped over the body of the android, sitting down hard on the bed. "God, Aaron," she murmured, "I guess this is it, isn't it? Father says they're going to start soon, and" 

"I was thinking," he replied on the heels of her words, "and, Dorothy, if there's any other way - stay alive?" 

The redheaded woman looked up into his eyes and then nodded slowly. "Until there's no other choice," she said. He didn't look very satisfied with that answer, but finally nodded. "You may be safe here, I don't know if they'll look here" 

"They'll look if Nightingale here is able to tell them," he responded, nudging her with his toe. "What should we do with her?" 

Closing her eyes, she fell backward onto the bed wearily. "I don't know too much about androids, but I think we should be able to - I don't know, jam her drive and immobilize her that way. She has this _box_ in my father's lab; let's just put her back in it and put the box-" _In the fire, _Dorothy thought, but didn't say it. 

"I could bring it down under the subway too," Aaron said musingly. "But, Dorothy she'll still be - awake, I guess it is. How long are you going to keep her there?" 

"Forever," she replied uncaringly. "You don't live with it." _No sympathy for machines, Dorothy... none at all. It doesn't really feel, not really..._

He regarded her quietly for a while and then asked her, "Even if she goes insane?" When she didn't reply he sighed softly and moved over next to her, leaning down to kiss her softly. "Rest that busy mind," he told her fondly, though his voice was not very light in tone. "Just let me take care of it." 

She laid there in the darkness, listening to him moving in the stillness and then quietly slipping outside. _I wish you knew how I felt about this, _she thought to herself, _but not even you, dearest one, could know a thing like that..._

* * *

If you were wondering, yeah, the 'sister' android from this memory is the same as the killer android from the episode R-D (in my reality, at least). I don't think her _name_ is R-D, thanks to a theory I can point you to if you like. 


	5. Part Five Identidem

And here is your cliffhanger. ^^ There are some mature themes in this chapter but it's not like a whole lemon or anything. One more part to go now! Thank you for your patience with me taking so long on this. Hopefully it's worth the wait.  
_identidem_ - repeatedly; again and again, continually 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Five - _Identidem_

_Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes._  
"It is foolish to fear what you cannot avoid."  
--Cicero 

He stormed away from the room, trying to hide his emotions, wishing for one moment that he was an android as well, apparently without feeling. Dorothy had finally woken up, but she'd only had to say one word, 'dream' - and he'd, well, lost it. He hadn't been able to stay in the room, given some excuse about being late but he knew the truth. 

Roger Smith was scared. He'd felt within himself such a strange worry, such a horrible dread at seeing Dorothy lying there unconscious. Though he'd been angry before when someone tried to harm her, there was no one here like Beck for him to turn his rage upon, nowhere for _blame_ to be placed. And he'd grown scared, worried that these intense feelings for an android didn't belong to him at all, but rather to _that man_, that mysterious figure of a man named Aaron. 

The dreams were coming more often now, and now that he knew Dorothy really was dreaming as well he had a suspicion that his own 'memory attacks' were related to hers. Despite the questions, however, there was one thing Roger was sure of: he did not want to become Aaron. No matter why he was having these memories, where these dreams were coming from - he was no one but himself. He had to believe that. _Had_ to. 

But this single remembrance still remained, blazing and intense in his mind: when she'd awoken, he had forgotten she was an android. He'd wanted to reach down and comfort her, make sure she was okay - because she hadn't acted like an android. She'd smiled at him. She'd smiled, when she woke up, with pure recognition in her eyes. He'd known who she was, and she'd known him. 

And they'd not been R. Dorothy, or Roger Smith. 

***** 

She sat perched on a stool in the quiet, austere room, sitting perfectly still as Norman fiddled with the contents of her head. In spite of her outward stillness, inwardly her mind was raging. She was used to simple logic, quick and thorough understanding, not this feeling of puzzlement. It was certain, now, that at least some of the human Dorothy's memories were inside her - but why Roger? What was his connection with the Aaron of her dreams? 

When she'd woken, Roger had done his best to pretend he hadn't been worried, but she knew the truth, had been able to see that odd expression in his eyes when she'd opened hers, before he hastily straightened and turned away, coughing into a fist. So many questions, but she didn't know how to answer them, how to bring them up in the first place. He would be willing to listen, she thought; this wouldn't be the first time something strange had happened to them. 

Norman shifted positions around her, hemming and hawing to himself thoughtfully as he studied circuits and wires. "Well," he muttered, "there really doesn't seem to be anything out of order that I can tell. I am sorry, but I can't explain why you lost consciousness this morning." 

Dorothy nodded slowly. "It is all right," she replied. "Not even my father knew exactly how I function." 

"I will continue to search," the older man offered, "though I do not want to risk damaging anything." 

Nodding in acquiescence, she continued waiting with her hands folded in her lap, puzzling over what she knew. This paled in comparison, however, to what she _didn't_ know, and it was certain she would never figure anything out with only the information that she alone had. With a slow blink, R. Dorothy finally said, in a quiet voice, "Norman?" 

"Why, yes, Dorothy?" he answered promptly, standing straight and removing the magnifier from his good eye. 

_I'm not sure how to begin - but I must begin somewhere. _Speaking in her slow, even voice, the android queried, "Roger has been having odd dreams too, has he not?" 

The butler nodded, though raising one bushy eyebrow at her at the same time. "From what he has told me, yes." 

The thought in her head grew more insistent, more definite, until she came as close as she ever had to actually blurting something out. "Do you think that maybe, I have been giving him those dreams?" 

Norman frowned, rubbing his long white moustache thoughtfully with his fingertips. "It may be possible, yes, but-" 

"Search for something that might be capable of that," she said confidently, looking straight ahead as she had been. _That might be the answer; maybe I am doing nothing more than broadcasting memories into his head. _

As the butler bent once more over her, however, she knew - no, _felt_; it was something other than logic and reason - that this was not the answer. Even when Norman discovered a strange signal, a circuit or node, going mad inside her head, she still doubted her own sudden idea. After all, wouldn't Norman be dreaming too, if that was it? 

When Roger dreamed, did he dream from her point of view, as he must if he were merely seeing her memory or was he seeing it through Aaron's eyes, an unexplainable thing? There was only one way to know. 

"I am sorry, Dorothy," Norman apologized once more, startling her though she didn't jerk suddenly in response. "I cannot tell you what happened, except that the suspicious node might indeed be at fault. I do not dare tinker with it, however." 

She felt him step back, closing her panels up again, making her human once more. "It is all right, Norman," she assuaged calmly, straightening her skirt as she slid off the stool. "Once Roger returns from his job, I will go speak with him." Dorothy looked up into the older man's sympathetic eyes, trying to let her words do for her what her carved-statue expression could not and give him some reassurance. "Together we should be able to find some answers." 

***** 

Dorothy stood outside his door, staring at its wooden outline in the barely-lit shadows of the hallway. Something was not right. No, it hadn't been all right all day; she hadn't been herself, had been feeling odd. Neither she nor Roger had said a word over dinner - it would have been a perfect time to talk, but she hadn't brought it up. 

_Why didn't I?_ she asked herself, continuing to look at the door. She'd been nervous - her; it was preposterous to even think of herself as capable of that emotion - and then frightened of her own nervousness. It hadn't started until she'd seen him, though; she'd been fine with just Norman around. And then Roger had then gone to bed, and she hadn't done a thing to stop him, call him back 

Because every time she began to open her mouth to address him, the name that threatened to come out was Aaron. Because every time she moved, from the corner of her eye she thought she was home again. Dorothy's home. Because she felt her rationality, her own self, slipping away, because the memories were becoming more intense and controlling. 

Her pale-white hand shot out before she was aware of telling it to, turning the knob of his door and opening it to reveal even deeper darkness, shadows upon shadows, a pale splotch upon navy sheets giving away the bed where Roger lay.  
He was not asleep, however, for he sat up halfway as she entered, blinking in the faint light shining from the hall fixtures. 

What, Dorothy?" he spat out in an aggrieved, irritated voice. "You know better than to-" 

"Roger!" she gasped, her voice a strange slur that made him choke off his tirade. 

_What's wrong now? This morning was enough; can't I ever stop worrying about her? _His eyes scanned her body unconsciously as she drifted toward him, her movements imprecise and very human. The android shook her head as if to clear it before coming to the edge of his bed and sitting down there. "What is the meaning-" 

Once again, the tall man found his voice being cut off as the smaller figure leaned down above him, her hands on his broad shoulders firmly pushing him back down against the mattress. She looked questioning, nervous, what was probably a mirror of his own face. "Please, help me," she whispered, her hair falling forward to hide her features from view momentarily. 

"How?" he asked, trying in vain to push her up; he'd been so relaxed a moment ago his muscles were protesting the sudden strain. Her head swung down to rest near his shoulder, her hand searching across his opposite arm. "What's wrong with you?" 

Her lips trembled near his ear, her eyes mirror-like, so that he himself was all he could see in them. The chilliness of her fingertips drifted to the corner of his mouth, her face pleading, almost scared. He couldn't move, couldn't jerk away from the closeness of her touch the way his instinct was telling him to. He was caught in the soft sounds of his own unsteady breathing in the darkness, in wonder and fear and maybe even the wrongness of such desire as this. 

"Aaron," she whispered against his skin, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from those eyes, something inside him reacting to the glowing flash within the dark reflective pupils. Like sparks shining in rhythm, speaking to his subconscious. _Aaron - no, Roger - I'm..._ "Losing myself I'm losing myself" _Her and who she was... I..._ "Help me - Roger-" 

"How? Dorothy," he returned again in a hitching kind of gasp, feeling the weight of her head laying down upon his chest, almost as if she was trying to discern a heartbeat. Such comforting, anchoring heaviness, her red hair spread like a fan across the dark fabric of his pajamas. Heartbeat, memories those irregular flashes in her eyes, like a key turning in a lock. He knew then that he had lost himself too- 

***** 

The fire roared up brightly before her eyes, the inferno so huge that even from this distance she could feel the heat, see the red glow it cast onto her pale skin and diaphanous white nightdress. She felt a tightness in her throat as she leaned against the frame of the double doors leading out onto the balcony, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. _No turning back now, is there, Father?_

"Aaron, did you see?" Dorothy said aloud upon hearing the slight creak of the door's hinges, not needing to turn around to know who had just slipped into the bedroom behind her. For several days her boyfriend had been secretively living in the mansion, using the subway tunnel to bring his things and move around quietly. Her father had been too occupied with his plan to notice anything, even the android's disappearance. The reasons for that were obvious now; things were starting, and they could not be stopped. 

"No, see what?" he asked, locking the door before sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his shoes. "You can smell something, that's for sure," Aaron noted in a forced cheerful tone, moving to stand next to her in the doorway, the fire's glow tainting the emerald-green color of his button-down shirt. "What _is_ it they're burning down there?" 

Dorothy was silent for a while, deliberately inhaling the acrid scent wafting through the air. "Books. They're burning books in the street, Aaron. They're burning the libraries-" 

"What?" he spat, taking a step out toward the balcony, though her hand shot out and twisted itself into his sleeve to stop him going any further. "Why are they doing that? How? The police-" 

"Have been controlled or bought," she finished for him. "Don't you see? They have to get rid of any evidence of the way things were before they wipe out the people's memories." Her brow furrowed. "Then only those left with memories will rule rule the _flock_," she muttered bitterly. 

It was a long while before he spoke again, thinking over what she'd just told him. _So, then, it's really happening. _He sighed, shaking his head slightly, before softly stating, "It looks like it might rain. That'd help, at least." 

"But it won't be enough," she stated quietly, her voice even and steady. "This is it. Once they've prepared, the Chariots will move into position. They will destroy the world and create a new one in its place." 

Aaron frowned deeply, shaking her gently from where he stood. His movements grew steadily stronger, his eyes widening substantially. "No, I don't want to hear any more about it! Please," the tall man began, speaking forcefully. "Please, can you forget for one moment? Can you put aside your fear for just a while?" The pilot was feeling close to frantic now, helpless and scared and wondering what the future would bring - if it would bring anything at all. 

He turned her to face him, almost desperately brushing the tears from her cheeks, trailing wet smears across her paleness. She slowly grabbed hold of his hands, squeezing them tightly, though her smile was ghost-like and not at all encouraging. "I - I would try, but-" 

"Seeing you afraid just makes it worse. Let's forget," he said, gathering her close against him, feeling her arms come up around his back suddenly like an immovable anchor. He ducked his head, kissing her almost furiously, her ear, her cheek, the side of her neck. Dorothy didn't protest as he picked her up and carried her back into her bedroom, laying her down on the rumpled sheets of the bed. 

There they made love with the streets on fire below them, the past burning to ash and the people wondering why as they themselves tried to forget the reason. With only desperation did their bodies move together, hands and legs and lips and the slickness of sweat-dotted skin only a distraction from the working of the mind. The pleasure, the release together an escape from grief, or perhaps an expression of grief, tongues tasting life and speaking in low murmured cries only of the senses. 

He pulled from her body, arms still tight around her, cradling her amidst the disheveled mass of pillows and sheets. Dorothy reached up to brush the strands of his black hair that lay on his forehead, whispering clearly into the quiet bedroom draped in shadows, "But of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you may not take; for on the day when you take of it, death will certainly come to you" 

"No, Dorothy," the man replied plainly, his grip tightening almost to the point of pain. He hid his face in her shoulder, his breath hot on her bare skin. 

She said nothing more, simply laying there, eyes open, tangled with his limbs. Soon she became aware that Aaron was sleeping, retreating into unconsciousness like a last defense against what was happening outside the glass door to the world. Though she wanted nothing more than to join him, to leave it all behind, Dorothy knew sleep was only a temporary escape. Thanks to her father, she was to be a shepherd. She would not wake up to a new life, a new existence, like the others. 

No - she would not wake up at all. 

Slowly, so as not to disturb the man next to her, she slid out of bed, grabbing up her nightgown from where it had been thrown on the floor. Sliding it down over her head and shaking her short hair free of the collar, she moved silently over to the glass door leading to the balcony, her hand resting on its handle. _This is the last day of the world as we know it... _

The sky outside had turned an angry red, dotted with black specks that reminded her of birds, a swarm of insects, a pestilence. Megadeii, flying into the city. The Chariots were moving now. It had started. 

She opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, alone. 

***** 

He struggled briefly against the weight holding him down before feeling it suddenly fly away on its own. Roger immediately sat up straight, staring into the darkness momentarily before his gaze caught on the small pale figure sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his mattress. She looked up at him, eyes wide and stunned, and he stared back in return, remembering her kiss, her touch but wasn't she an android? 

"Gah!" he cried without thinking, rolling quickly to the other side of the bed and onto the floor, pulling up to his knees. Dorothy's face had still not resumed its mask, and with a choked cry she sprang up and ran, a streak of quicksilver, outside onto the balcony. 

_That dream - what was that? What the _hell_ was that?_ he thought, severely unsettled by what he'd just experienced. _I dreamed I... slept with Dorothy! But it wasn't her - and it wasn't me! It was _him_ again! _He shook his head violently, fingers closing tightly into the mass of sheets and blankets on top of the mattress. "No, this can't be!" he said aloud. "It can't be a memory, it's impossible!" 

But what about Dorothy? Why had she been there? He remembered then, realized that she'd come into his room with a problem, had looked into his eyes so deep, and reflective, and- 

Hands braced on the bed, Roger nearly exploded into a standing position. "She had it too!" he realized. The way she'd run after he'd noticed her, after she'd seen the shocked look on his face; it had to be true. _I have to talk with her,_ he thought, frowning firmly and reaching for his robe on the chair nearby. 

The thought that his reaction had hurt her feelings somehow nagged in the back of his mind, though he wasn't sure how to contend with that idea at the moment. _At any rate, if she's giving me these memories, there has to be some way to make it stop, and now!_

Confident that it could be done somehow, he slid his feet into his slippers and followed her path toward the glass door, still standing open and letting a chill breeze wail its way into his bedroom. The tall man stepped out onto the stones, her name on his lips, and then froze with his heart in his throat as he saw her standing on the balcony railing, facing the house. The sun was rising behind her, giving the sky a reddish glow. 

_No!_ he told himself sternly, stalking up to her and crossing his arms. "Dorothy, come down from there why did you run out here?" he asked finally. 

"Roger," she said softly in response, making no move to come down; she no longer showed any emotion whatsoever, the wind tossing her red hair around her face. "I have been dreaming, Roger. I have been dreaming I was a human, that I was the real Dorothy, who lived forty years ago." 

"But they're just dreams," he tried to say, though the explanation sounded even weaker once he'd said it aloud. 

She shook her head once, a precise gesture that warred strongly with the increasing emotion in her voice. "No, they are memories. They are the memories of a daughter who was killed by her own father. And my - no, her father, guilty over what he had done, remembered her death even after losing his own memories. He remembered her enough to make me as a replacement." 

Roger shook his head, running his hands though his sleep-mussed hair in frustration. "You don't know that, Dorothy. We don't know _anything_ about what's going on." 

"Who am I, Roger Smith?" she asked, holding out her hand toward him, though he was not close enough to take it. "What happens to my own memories, my own experiences? Am I a vessel for the human Dorothy? Do I have a soul of my own?" 

"Dorothy," he said strongly, eyes blazing in assurance and a part of him aching at her understated despair, "you _are_ your own person. I don't understand what's happening, but I know that much for sure. It's like I said before your own memories make you who you are." The man sighed, staring down at his slippers upon the stone. "Remember, the song you hum? It's-" 

"Dorothy's favorite song," she finished simply, her black skirt fluttering wildly around her stocking-covered legs. 

He waved his hands in a 'stop' gesture, trying frantically to figure out a way to reassure her enough to get her back to normal. There was something about this situation that was giving him a sense of alarm, of trying to hold sand in his fist. No, he needed control, and soon. "No, no! You are R. Dorothy Wayneright - you are yourself!" he told her, unsure of how better to say it. 

She shook her head slowly, giving him a look filled with sorrow. "No, Aaron. I am losing myself. She will return, as my father wished her to, and I will be no more." 

"I won't let it happen!" Roger cried out. "And I'm _not him_! I'm not Aaron, and you're not her! I don't want her, Dorothy, I don't want you to _be_ her - all she is to me is a stranger with your face! Don't you see I-" he began, but his voice vanished in his throat, torn away by a stifled cry of horror. 

Her eyes remaining firmly, unnaturally open, the android had rocked back on her heels, her outstretched hand falling away from him as she toppled backward 


	6. Part Six Confatalis

Ah, it is finally the conclusion now. Took long enough, eh? By the way, I haven't seen any of the new episodes yet, so I have no idea how well, or how badly, this fits in with the continued storyline. The second season was only a fan's fondest wish when I started this, heh. It's still weird to think that it actually came into being. I can't wait to see what really happens, though! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.  
_confatalis_ - fated by implication; jointly dependent on fate; decided by fate; determined by the same fate 

"_In Medias Res_"  
By Amanda Swiftgold 

Part Six - _Confatalis_

_Serva me, servabo te._  
"Save me and I will save you."  
-Petronius Arbiter 

***** 

"This is most disturbing." 

Angel inclined her head shortly at the man who ruled the city, her fingers clenched tightly around the report in her arms. "Sir," she replied politely, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. 

Alex Rosewater leaned back in his chair, his back to her, gazing out over the city through the plate glass in front of him. Dawn was coming on, the night already fled. Though he had noticed - he always noticed - he hadn't really cared. "Four of them," he murmured to his secretary. "Four of them with memories they're too young to have. And yet they haven't found their birthrights will never use them properly" He turned around suddenly, peering hard at the woman standing there. "And Smith?" 

Her expression did not change, though inwardly the blonde gave a weary sigh, her stomach flip-flopping. "No, sir," she lied easily. "I have spoken with him, and I feel assured that he does not remember a thing." 

Rosewater gave her a close look before rising from his seat. "Well, that is only a matter of time," he announced. "We've done enough tonight, Patricia," he told her. "It's dawn, you see. I expect the rest of the reports will wait." 

Feeling weary, though it wasn't necessarily because she had been attending the president of Paradigm all night, Angel gave him a grateful nod. "Yes, sir," she answered, a wave of relief pounding through her so hard she could feel the scars on her back ache. 

"Dawn," he repeated, his lined face half-smiling. With little regard for the woman behind him, he turned to stride out of the office, apparently lost in thought. Angel, however, knew that contrary to however he appeared, Rosewater was never lost. Never. 

Still, she couldn't help but feel that she'd achieved some kind of small victory. If she could manage it, he would never find out about the conversation that had been recorded by the bug in the military police office - he would never know that Roger's memories were indeed awakening as well. 

Somehow, she felt that she owed the negotiator that much. 

***** 

He was moving long before his mind had even registered the fact that she was falling, forced into motion not only by instinct but by the remembrance of a man he'd never known. It was as if the tendrils of history had curled around his limbs, dangling him like a marionette. And as it had before his hand closed around hers, just barely catching hold of her cold fingers to pull her back again- 

And then the slow march of time stopped. Gritting his teeth, Roger felt the stone through the thin soles of his slippers, his feet braced on the rail the only thing keeping her weight from pulling him over along with her. He flung out his other hand to grab Dorothy's wrist, muscles straining as he felt himself slowly, inexorably leaning forward over the rail. 

"What are you doing?!" he gasped, the sweat pouring down his face, strands of black hair sticking to his skin. "Dorothy!" 

She looked up at him calmly as she dangled above the street so far below, the flutter of her skirt against her legs like the sound of wings. "I must fall," she told him quietly, "as it happened before." She felt her voice fading, a whisper barely heard over the air whistling around her. "I am bound by history to carry it out," she repeated as she had once before. But that that had been just a dream. This - _this_ was what was real. 

He shook his head laboriously, fighting to remain on the balcony, his whole body arched with the strain. "No," he hissed, "you're not!" 

She stared into Roger's pain-filled eyes, her own widening involuntarily. "If I am to become the real Dorothy," she told him, "what I am must die" 

"Dorothy!" he cried, his hands slipping; frantically, he hurried to readjust his grip. "Your father wanted you to be human - but he's dead! He doesn't matter anymore! Dorothy, I just want you to be yourself!" 

The red-haired android looked up at him, the emotionlessness on her face bleeding away for one brief moment. "Roger," she finally answered. "Roger. Let go." 

"Damn it," he shouted, "no!" 

"Roger," Dorothy repeated. "Do you trust me?" She waited, the agony on his face seeming to shoot straight through her. "If you trust me, Roger," she continued, "then let go." 

The negotiator let out a shout of rage, managing by sheer adrenaline to pull back half a step. "R. Dorothy Wayneright, I am not going to help you kill yourself for a dead man's dream!" 

"So stubborn," she sighed, changing almost before his eyes, a gentle smile flashing across her lips. "Only I could ever make you change your mind. Wouldn't my father hate to know that you were reborn as well, Aaron?" 

It was as if she'd just stabbed him; suddenly, all the strength drained from him, and he could only look on helplessly as his hands loosened their grip, as her tiny hand slid like a shot form his. "Dorothy!" Roger yelled, keeling forward over the railing. 

And he forgot to breathe, watching as her fingers, with precise calculation, snagged hold of the beveled outcropping just below. The android's slender form twisted upward, flipping with inhuman agility back up into the air and down again onto the railing. Quickly, she jumped back down onto the stone next to him, turning toward him, bobbed hair swinging back into place against her cheeks. 

He turned, raising his hand toward her, his arms aching, but she did nothing but stand there motionlessly, and he stopped short of touching her, shoulders slumped in relief, a sigh escaping. _I was so worried I don't know if I've been more afraid and I don't even know if those were _my_ feelings-_ A second later he straightened again, anger flashing in dark irises. "What in the world were you doing?" he demanded loudly. "Scaring me like that!" 

Dorothy gave him a flat look, the same as she ever did, and inwardly his heart leapt inside. "Roger," she began, ignoring his frustration, "didn't you feel it too? You say that I am not her. The real Dorothy. Are you not worried that you are intended to become Aaron?" 

The man shook his head, messy hair dancing in the breeze; he folded his arms over his chest, staring out at the dawn-lit city, old and worn buildings stained red with the rising sun. "No I'm not. Those memories they're not mine. I can ignore them, push them aside. We might hold these memories, Dorothy, but we won't be controlled by them." 

She tilted her head slightly. _You say this with such confidence, Roger, but I think you'll still remember what it felt like to die just as I do. _"You are sure?" 

He gave her a crooked smile, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as he leaned against the railing, his eyes boring into her dark, reflective ones. "_I_ never made a promise, you know. I never promised to kill myself, or to let you do it. I have a contract, remember? You contracted me to protect you, R. Dorothy, and so I will. Even from yourself. That's _my_ promise. We don't have to repeat the past." 

Dorothy was still for a moment before gently brushing her fingers over his hand, watching as he turned it to curl his own fingers back around hers. She looked at their entwined hands as if unsure what she was seeing, closing her eyes briefly when the tentative hold slowly broke apart. "Thank you, Roger." In a swift movement, she jumped back up on the ledge, staring out over Paradigm - and, somehow, he wasn't worried in the slightest. 

Still mere shadows in the dawn that was brightening around them, the two stood together, watching it come silently. 

***** 

_"It has begun."_

_"What are you doing?"_

_"You know already. We knew it would happen"_

_"Dorothy!"_

_"Let me go."_

_"I can't do that."_

_"Then come with me. You promised"_

_"This isn't the answer. It won't solve anything."_

_"You are right. But I can't be a part of this, not even for my father."_

_"We'll think of something-"_

_"Get away from her!"_

_"No! Father, no!"_

_"I love you, Dorothy."_

_"_Dorothy_!"_

_"Aaron I love you too"_

***** 

Hair disheveled, his eyes swimming wet, mucus running from his nose and streaked across his face, the creator of the new world stumbled across the debris that was scattered across the road, his breath coming in great wheezing sobs. Clambering awkwardly over the crumpled wreck of a car, Timothy Wayneright made his way toward the two twisted bodies that lay broken on the asphalt. 

The blood was everywhere, spattered across the stone, the insides of his daughter and her lover mingling together, spread out for the world to see. Angrily, the man kicked the dark-haired man's corpse away from Dorothy's, falling to his knees next to her. 

Machinery shook in his hands, the memory scanners that he and Aaron's father had developed together. Moaning hysterically, he pried open the young woman's lifeless eye, shining its light within. He would fix this, he would remedy the mistake he'd made. He would create another android, bring his daughter back, bring her smile and her love back. 

He would. He was the creator. He was the architect of the perfect world. And with his own hands, with the hands that had pulled the trigger that had killed her, he would bring his daughter back to life. 

The rebirth of the world itself was swirling around him, the megadeii and their beautiful beams of light forming a network that would strip the people of their memories, leave them lost and alone and ready to follow. As the scanner beeped stringently, informing him that what could be salvaged was saved, he looked up and watched with tears now of joy as the giant creatures he had made spread out before him, catching in their net all the sinners of the Earth. 

Benevolently, Wayneright cast his eyes on the fallen figure of the man near his daughter. Almost as an afterthought, he leaned over the cooling body, flicking the beam of the scanner over Aaron's eye, already fixed wide open in death. These memories he would give to Gordon Rosewater for his project, scraps to be added from what had already been collected during the pilot's life. Calmly now, despite his messy appearance, he made a note on the little screen to remind him of that. No, never let it be said that he was one to leave things undone 

And then, as he gazed upward, he saw something that made his breath stop in his throat. The energy net was extending its finger down around Paradigm Headquarters, down around him. The megadeii were disobeying orders? 

He jumped to his feet, twisting around, staring upward at the gigantic figures as they grew in power, doing exactly what they had been made to do. "Traitors!" he screamed at the machines above, shaking his fist wildly, his voice not that of a god but merely the thin, high-pitched squeal of a powerless middle-aged man, a man whose memories were moments from being stolen away. "I created you - _I created you_!" 

But that mattered not, in the end. 

Sometimes tools have their own work to do. 

_Finio_. 


End file.
